


For the Living

by irisbleufic



Series: Lyra, Burning 'Verse (& Related Occurrences) [3]
Category: Back to the Future (Movies)
Genre: Brothers, Established Relationship, F/M, Ficlet, Ghosts, Halloween, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 11:24:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8399818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisbleufic/pseuds/irisbleufic
Summary: “Hauntings are for the living,” said Seamus, shrugging. “At least if you're haunted, you know you're alive.”

  [This piece follows the core LB trilogy and Mistral.  Title comes from the above quote, which is from the preceding story.]





	

**October 31, 1886**

Seamus McFly had never been one to give in to cat-killing levels of curiosity, but when one improbable, stranded time traveler of a however-many-greats grandson and his scientist-blacksmith lover don't answer the smithy door of a Sunday afternoon, there are bound to be questions.

“Are you at all listenin'?” Seamus called, pounding again. “Or have you taken up goin' to Mass, holed up all secretive-like in the back, and I snuck right by ya on my way out? Mags is home sick with Will today, havin' a fit. _Martin_!”

There was no answer, not even to Seamus's semi-objectionable use of the young man's full first name.

“I'll be damned if it's All Hallows an' I wish you no blessing,” Seamus muttered, marching around the side of the smithy _not_ hemmed in by corral. “Your strangely-named horses couldn't drag me away.”

He ran his palm along the building's rough-planked exterior, uneasy as the sky darkened a fraction. There were no weather prognosticators out here, not like there'd been in Dublin, London, Boston, and even in a few other new-world cities they'd hit along the way.

Perhaps they were in for some rain before the day was out. That wouldn't help settle the restless dead.

“The likes of me, a Peepin' Tom,” Seamus scoffed, squinting through the first window he found. Quintana's glass-work was fine all right, the finest in town. She'd won the bid on the courthouse, which was nearing completion.

He ought to have known from the layout of the place that he'd been headed for the window right next to the bed. Just like he ought to have known that Sundays, in the eyes of hardworking schoolteacher-scientist-blacksmith households, were for having a lie-in.

And he didn't mean the latter in the dozy, oh-so-polite English sense of the expression, either.

Maggie would have said there was _nothing_ polite about the way Marty was kissing poor Doc into the pillows like he meant never to let him breathe again. She also would've said that _that_ much disregard for modesty in the form of strategically-placed bedclothes was indecent. And she would've said both of those things because she was neither polite, _nor_ decent when bedding Seamus.

What he was witnessing scarcely held a candle to having lived with Martin's shenanigans. If anything, it felt calmer somehow, safer. And, Lord forgive him for having such an unorthodox heart of hearts, maybe even a touch _holy_.

“Enraptured as they are,” said a breeze-like wisp of breath against the back of Seamus's neck, “do you ever wonder what they _really_ feel?”

“Bliss, from the look of 'em,” Seamus replied, not bothering to turn and face the ghost. “Was it like that, Martin, with a lad in your arms?”

“Last I checked, still is,” said Martin, smugly. “Much though I regret dyin', brother mine, there's a lot to be said for havin' all o' history's finest, queerest bachelors at my disposal.” He set both hands on Seamus's shoulders, shaking him, peering through the corner of the window with interest. “Will you look at the flexibility on that one? He's twice your age if he's a day, can bend with the best of 'em.”

“I didn't come here to spy,” Seamus chided, turning from the glass, dislodging Martin's grasp in the process of pressing his back against the wall, ducking out of sight in case the lovers within happened to notice. “I came here to see to it the likes of _you_ don't come spookin' tonight.”

“Well, see, I've been gone a wee while,” replied Martin, almost pouting. “I've been homesick. You _did_ call.”

“I wasn't talkin' to you, Jesus, you great buffoon,” Seamus sighed. “I was after your namesake in there.”

“Our Lord and Savior might not take kindly to bein' called a buffoon,” Martin said, winking, flattening himself alongside Seamus, so close their shoulders touched. “Ask how my education's comin' along! Took my whole damn life and half my death to get some smarts, but—”

“I'm glad Miss Clayton's proved a suitable tutor,” Seamus said, folding his arms tightly. “Where is she?”

“Oh, the hell if I know,” said Martin, cheerfully, tilting his hat at a rakish angle. “She's got herself ladies and gents lined up from here to the back of beyond. Imagine. That lavender terror of a schoolmarm makes _me_ look like a regular celibate.”

Seamus glanced at the brim of his own hat, crossing himself, begging the Everlasting for patience.

“Does suit ya, that,” Martin remarked, prodding at the lately-acquired piece. “Better than the bowler.”

“Come off it,” Seamus said, startled by a low, muffled sound from within. “ _Christ_ , are they—”

“It ain't nothin' you don't remember me by every day you breathe,” replied Martin, abruptly as sober and unflinching as a judge. He grabbed Seamus by the shoulders, forcing them to face each other. “They're happy, aye?”

Seamus nodded, setting Martin's hat back to rights. “They're happy as ever I saw a pair, Marty-lad.”

“Never felt right callin' ya Shame like I did,” said Martin, softly, “but you answered to it right enough.”

“I'll answer to anything,” Seamus said, finding his voice thick, vision blurring. “Don't leave me now.”

“You said it yourself, to _our_ namesake in there, didn't you?” Martin asked, brushing away Seamus's tears with too-substantial thumbs for a man so many years gone. “I always come back. And I'll keep on waitin' for ya, too.”


End file.
